


i wonder if our future was written in our past

by TheVeryLastValkyrie



Series: and i'll be new baptised [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: A Sweet Singing Which Might Save the Universe, And His Attraction to Rey Is Still a Theremin Sonata, F/M, In Which Ren Has Been Captured for Some Reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVeryLastValkyrie/pseuds/TheVeryLastValkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's the one in the fear chair, but Rey's still afraid of the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wonder if our future was written in our past

I miss Han Solo, but not like I miss my father. He isn’t the father I never had; he’s the father of this monster, this wide-mouthed creature whose lips look fuzzy at the corners like mine. I want to touch them, to make sure he’s human like I am. Maybe if I can be sure, I won’t be so afraid of him – although it’s not as if I’m the one who’s shackled to a chair. The Force is still with him: it surrounds him like a halo of light, but he pulls too hard on it. It’s draining him.

“Ben?”

His mother asked me to call him that. She’s calling to him. I’m calling to him.

He just stares at me. I remember him leaning close to me, _I can take whatever I want_. I remember him in my head, but I was there too. I’m here now, calling to him, inside his own head.

(Why did he carry me to his ship?)

“I know you can hear me, Ben Organa Solo.” That name is the only name which will ever fit him, the one name which explains everything. It explains the deadly, clumsy Jedi who fought in the forest, the tarnished silver tongue where Leia Organa’s has twisted behind his teeth, the anger and the power and the proud jut of his chin under his fuzzy-edged lips. Kylo Ren is a dream. Everything he is whispers of a mystic, and a princess, and a smuggler. It calls to me too.

(Why did he put me in the chair?)

“I can hear you,” he says. It doesn’t seem to bother him to look at me the way it does me to look at him. I wonder if it’s because he’s lonely. I wonder if it’s because I have a face, and he’s spent so long surrounded by masks.

(Why did he allow me to see his face?)

I wonder if I should hide it from him.

I fetch the cup of water from the skinny-legged table by the door, bring it over and tilt it so he can drink. He doesn’t. He’s pretending he isn’t thirsty, but my home was a desert, and I’ve never not been thirsty. I wet my fingertip, and for a moment I hold it up, waiting as the trickle begins to slowly move down over my knuckle. I put it to the closed seam of his mouth, and then he waits too. The world ebbs and flows for another moment before the quick heat of his tongue shocks me, rasping over my skin, wanting moisture, wanting that basic comfort. I worry he’s bitten me, but there are no marks on my finger when I draw it back. The needle points of sensation in my fingertip are all in my mind, but they feel like they belong in my body. He's not in my head. He's not inside me. He has the taste of me, but not the measure.

He swallows.

“You still need a teacher,” he tells me.

(Why do I care if he dessicates?)

“No one needs a teacher like you.”

(Why do I care if he hurts?)

Having power over him is unsettling. It’s unfair. It makes me uncomfortable that he’s restrained and that I’m not ready to let him up. I have about as much faith in my ability to teach him about the light as I have in his not to destroy me.

(Why do I care if the darkness eats him from within?)

“Ben Solo is dead.”

But he’s still thirsty.

“I am Kylo Ren.”

So I wet my finger.


End file.
